


Just Like Falling

by winterspirit13



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Torture, Tumblr Prompt, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), heaven sucks, its not like graphic violence but he is technically tortured in a more metaphysical way so it hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 20:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterspirit13/pseuds/winterspirit13
Summary: Anon asked: Hi, are you still taking prompts? If you are, maybe something like Heaven taking Crowley in order to hurt Aziraphale? Just some great whump 🙃🙃 love your writingCrowley is caught unawares by a few Archangels, which can mean nothing good. They plan to hurt him in order to control Aziraphale, although their methods are very different from what hell's might have been.Basically, the first chapter I hurt my dear Crowley a lot, and the second one Aziraphale comforts.





	1. like falling

Honestly, Crowley should have seen it coming.

He should have guessed, should have realized that they couldn’t possibly be let off the hook so easily. That they could just fool the rest of the powerful occult and ethereal beings in the universe by a simple swap and be done with it forever and ever.

Crowley should have sensed the strange angelic presence in Aziraphale’s bookshop when he was lounging peacefully on the couch.

He didn’t.

Crowley usually didn’t pay too much attention to presences. He couldn’t sense _nice _emotions like Aziraphale, so the whole thing just didn’t have much appeal to put any effort into, except if he was trying to locate his angel.

This is why he was completely unprepared when the bookshop door opened, the bell ringing to announce an intruder. Crowley glanced up, and he was honestly expecting some poor human customer he would frighten away with a flash of a much eviler face than the one he usually wore. (Aziraphale usually didn’t let him do this, but Aziraphale wasn’t there at the moment, and it was the human’s damn fault for ignoring the ‘closed’ sign).

However, Crowley was not expecting to see the Archangel Fucking Gabriel, a satisfied grin on his oh-so-_punchable _face.

“Crowley! Just the demon I was hoping to run into!” Gabriel said, his falsely-pleasant voice causing fear to ooze its way through Crowley. He sat up, every muscle tensed and ready to either run or if he had to, fight. His pose on the couch was still deceivingly sprawled and twisted, it might even pass as relaxed to the untrained or simply uncaring eyes.

“Not sure I could say you’re the angel I wanted to see,” Crowley gathered himself enough to sneer at Gabriel. To his credit, he only sighed, looking vaguely annoyed and bored.

Once, very long ago, Gabriel would have cared, Crowley thought. Before even the Beginning, and at least before Lucifer Fell. That Gabriel, however, was not something he would see any time soon, if at all.

It was too late when Crowley noticed the way Gabriel’s eyes flicked above his head, instead of looking down on him as if he were a stain in a crisp white shirt that just wouldn’t come out.

He looked up, only to see the blur of movement as Sandalphon brought down the blunt edge of a sword on Crowley’s head. _Hard._ He didn’t even have time to shout before consciousness failed him, and the bookshop turned to black.

…

When Crowley woke, he was in about the last place he would have ever thought he’d be. Heaven.

Of course, he didn’t _feel _very heavenly. Demonic nature aside, his head hurt like… like…

His head really hurt. Throbbing in a way that made his thoughts disjointed, which really wasn’t fair because he wasn’t even _corporeal_. Shouldn’t have to hurt so blessed much.

He was in what was most assuredly a cell, although it had the appearance of a boring plain white room. It was awarded heavily, Crowley found, as he tried to test the door. Against demons and angels alike, and went even so far as to have dissuasions for human souls as well.

Heaven, at the least, was still worried by the stunt him and Aziraphale had pulled after the apocawasn’t.

_‘So they don’t believe they can kill me,’ _He thinks. And it was a relief because at least he wouldn’t be leaving Aziraphale forever. And if they wanted him dead through means of holy water or sword, he would have been gone by now.

Crowley didn’t recognize where in heaven he was, although he suspected by his last visit he might not recognize much if any of it. It was too different from what he once must have known. That certainly put a damper on any escape plans, even if he did manage to squirm his way around the wards.

At the very least Aziraphale must know something had happened to him, or he would soon. Crowley could feel it in the very way his being _ached _that his physical body had been left at the bookshop; him instead being harshly ripped away from it by the Archangels.

Which, now that Crowley thought about it, was odd. Surely if they were getting rid of him, they would want to make it as clean as possible, not risk Aziraphale discovering it was heaven who had him?

Unless… that was exactly what they wanted, Crowley realized in muted terror. For his angel to try and rescue him.

He was _bait_.

If heaven couldn’t rid Aziraphale with hellfire, they must have wanted to find another way, since God didn’t seem to care enough to make him Fall, a fact Crowley might have admitted to thanking Her for if he was drunk enough.

He didn’t know if it was to punish his angel or control him or _what_, but it was the only option that fit all the pieces together.

He wasn’t sure how long he stewed on that realization alone in the blank room. It was impossible to get a real sense of time, but it felt like much too long. At the very least, Heaven didn’t burn him, not like consecrated ground or other holy things. It just filled him with fear of what might happen to him and Aziraphale, and gave him a dull sense of longing he refused to admit to even to himself, and probably wouldn’t even with all the alcohol in the world.

Just when he thought he might actually loose it from the pure _nothingness_, a door that had not been their before opened.

“Now Crowley, I’ve had to hear thousands of years about how _wily _you are, so you must have some idea why you’re here?” Asked Gabriel, voice patronizing. Crowley hissed, and the Archangel shook his head. “Really, there’s no use for that. It’s not like it’s personal – but if Aziraphale insists on remaining an Angel, we have to hold him in line _somehow_. Michael thought of it actually, a great idea. If his priorities lay with you and not heaven, why not make them match up? He does what’s needed of him, and you won’t get hurt,” he smiles proudly.

_Of course, it was Michael_, Crowley thinks. Gabriel wouldn’t have been so creative. “It won’t work,” he spits, “I’ve been through _hell _there isss nothing you can do that’ss worsssse.” He wouldn’t show any hurt for Aziraphale, wouldn’t give them the show they wanted.

But Gabriel just nods with disinterest. “But we can do better,” he points out. And Crowley doesn’t understand until Gabriel’s hand is on his shoulder, holding tightly so that he can’t pull away.

He lets out something in between a gasp and a sob because suddenly he was being filled with Grace and Love and it was too fucking _much_. Grace was something foreign to him now, and it burned through the very core of him. Love was less so, but the love he was feeling right now wasn’t the love he had for Aziraphale, or even the more casual feeling for his Bentley or music, it was Love with a capital “L”, something godly and angelic that he couldn’t possibly know being outside of the Host.

For all it burned through him, he grasped at it, craving it. He never meant to fall, to _lose _this along with a name he could no longer say. He _needed _it, even if it felt like it was tearing his very essence apart.

With a shock it was gone, Gabriel’s projection roughly pulled away from him with his hand and Crowley collapsed. Tears streamed down his face, and he looked up to Gabriel with all the weakness and desperation as he looked to the heavens when he first Fell.

There was only a slight flicker of emotion in Gabriel’s eyes before he blinked it away and left.

Crowley was alone. He felt so _empty_, so cold. He was a miserable sight, shaking and pathetic in a way Hell could not possibly draw out of him. He couldn’t even speak. Even if he could, what could he possibly say?

Scream, turning his pain into rage? Call for Aziraphale to get him out of here? Beg for Gabriel to come back, to let him feel Light like that until it destroyed him?

He couldn’t do any of that so he just pressed himself against a wall, pushing his hands into his chest in a vain attempt to fill the empty feeling he was left with.

When Gabriel returned, Crowley had not moved. He had tried to sleep, but when exhaustion (the mental kind, at least) tried to overtake him he was flooded with a mixture of dreams and memories of his Fall.

Silent, Crowley watched as Gabriel approached with cold determination. Crowley did not flinch away from his touch, did not want to give the Archangel that kind of satisfaction. He just braced himself for what he knew was coming.

Somehow knowing was _so much worse_.

“Bring him in.” he heard distantly over his own choked sobs. He was raw, cold, empty, _weak_.

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale. His voice broke, murmured sympathy and guilt and Crowley knew that the Archangel’s plan was just this, but he couldn’t stop the desperate gasps coming from him as he reeled in shock from the loss of grace for the third time in his life.

As much as Crowley wanted to, he couldn’t look at Aziraphale. Not like this, not now. “What have you _done _to him, Gabriel?” Aziraphale’s voice was accusing, angry in a way that Crowley was not used to hearing. Focusing on his voice and his presence, he tried to calm himself at least enough to open his eyes without starting to beg.

“Only what was necessary, Aziraphale,” Gabriel stated without sympathy. “Since the world is still, well, here – thanks for that one by the way – you’re still going to be required to work for heaven. Little to no chance of promotion, I’m afraid.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. Aziraphale looked like he was about to snap, ready to lunge at Gabriel.

Crowley sent a pleading look to him, begging the angel not to get himself into any more trouble. Aziraphale took a sharp breath. “And if I don’t agree?” He dared question.

“Well, you see,” Gabriel waved his hand, gesturing towards Crowley. “Unless you’d like to have a demonstration sooner than later, then I’ll let you watch as he is punished for your mistakes.”

Aziraphale looked from Gabriel to Crowley crumpled on the floor eyes wide.

“Zira. S’ fine, I’m-“ He can’t say he’s okay. He can’t even lie about it. Gabriel spun towards him, eyes cold. He was pissed. Crowley wasn’t supposed to be in any state to try and comfort the disobedient angel in Gabriel’s eyes, he guessed.

Gabriel took a step toward him, and Crowley let out a low whine.

“I’ll do it,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. “Whatever assignments you want me doing, I’ll do it, Gabriel.” The Archangel paused and sighed in almost disappointment before nodding.

“Great! Glad to have you back,” said Gabriel, and Crowley never realized how easy an angel could lie.

After Aziraphale agreed, Crowley was left alone again. He felt hopeless, even if there was a way to get out of the blessed room, he didn’t have the effort to look for it anymore. Occasionally, he could sense his Angel visiting heaven, sometimes nearer to him than others, but he never saw Aziraphale.

At least when he had to experience his fall, he landed in Hell. There, demons easily took out their pain and anger on each other. Not exactly a healthy coping mechanism, but there was _nothing _for him here, and he was only stuck with his feelings festering. What he wouldn’t give for some plants to terrorize.

As time went on, he was at least allowed to get himself put back together. He was no longer a shivering mess on the floor, he was more of a somewhat mobile and very _bored _mess who only shivered a little when he felt a flash of Gabriel’s power. Which still wasn’t great, but he’d take it.

It was a long time before anyone decided to check on him. Long enough, at least, that if he were human he might be having some serious problems. Crowley, luckily, being a demon, could just sleep for a few days when the silence of his cell became overwhelming. He was starting to understand why his angel kept things so cluttered.

But still, being in heaven, with its holiness and light and love, twisted as it may have become, bad as the situation may be, made some part of him wish to stay. To belong, again. Which was confusing, because even if Crowley was offered a place again by God herself, he probably wouldn’t want it.

It was that conflicting nature he had been thinking about, pacing around his cell when a door opened, and in walked Aziraphale. Crowley turned, eyes brightening. “Aziraphale!”

The angel did not meet his eyes.

Gabriel entered after him.

_Oh._

“Well, go on, explain why we’re here today,” Gabriel prompted. Aziraphale’s lip trembled.

“Crowley, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to, I just,” Aziraphale hiccupped, “I just messed up using a miracle, oh, _please _Gabriel. Let me fix this some other way,” he begged.

Gabriel tutted. “If there were any other way.” Gabriel approached Crowley, who bristled in defense. He was going to do this? Now, in front of Aziraphale?

He could feel himself start to panic, but tried to push it down. He would have to keep it together for Aziraphale. He’d like to have no reaction at all, not even a little bit of distress and _encourage _the angel to do things his way.

Heaven was a bag of dicks, and if anyone was Good it was Aziraphale.

But he wasn’t naïve enough to actually believe things would go so well.

Gabriel grasped his arm, and Crowley thought he might scream. Gabriel’s grace was projected through him, burning as it went. He clenched his jaw so hard that if he were a truly physical being it would have surely broken.

He didn’t scream.

His breathing was rapid, coming in pants and gasps, completely unsteady. He wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for Gabriel’s tight grip holding him up. He felt like he would dissolve into ashes any moment. But he didn’t scream.

He refused to. Not in front of Aziraphale.

Not when somehow, Crowley must deserve this.

Gabriel must have grown frustrated because all of a sudden, Crowley’s head split open with a cacophony of voices. Prayers, angel communications, everything the Archangel could muster projected onto him.

“Please, please, please, _stop, no, please,”_ he heard along with it. Vaguely, he knew it was himself. He still did not scream, but he was a mess of incoherent babbling and low whines as he begged for the quiet he had hated previously to return.

“Gabriel, Gabriel you’ll _kill _him!” Aziraphale’s panicked voice rang. The Archangel didn’t let up, and suddenly, Aziraphale’s voice powerful in an almost deadly, threatening way. “Gabriel, if he’s gone, I have no reason to be loyal to heaven again.” His voice had never contained so much Wrath.

Gabriel may not have been against a war with hell, but another war with angles was something he’d do _anything _to prevent.

The noise stopped. Gabriel’s grace, the Love, the Light was being pulled away so quickly that Crowley was sure some of himself must have been coming with it.

_No, no not again, don’t leave me like this again_. He tried to cling to it, the completeness that it offered, fighting it just as hard as when God had stripped it from him when he Fell. But it was a losing battle; this grace had never been his. He had just been allowed to feel it.

When it was gone, he screamed.

It was a tortured sound, not fitting of almost any creature, much less something close to human. Gabriel took a step back from him, shaken by the ordeal even as Crowley blindly grasped the air in front of him.

The painful sensation of his knees hitting the ground was the only indication he had collapsed, and he wrung his hands through his hair, pulling, trying to ground himself, his eyes tightly shut. He sobbed and keened and gasped and begged, although no words were close to comprehensible. Somewhere distant, his angel was crying for him.

The sound of the door opening again was the only thing that managed to break through to him; the sound of another angel whose Presence was overwhelming entering.

Crowley shoved himself backward, scrambling to press into the corner of the room away from the angels. His vision was blurry with tears, but the new face he saw was not familiar.

Waves of terror and panic crashed over Crowley. His eyes were blown yellow, his chest throbbing with stabbing pain, something like a hiss escaping him as a warning to the approaching Angel.

The Angel stopped, hardly looking at him. He was saying something to the other angels. Crowley’s mind couldn’t keep up with the words.

Pain, longing, terror threatened to overtake him. He found he couldn’t fight it.

The world went black.


	2. like being caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you you wouldn't have to wait long for this chapter...
> 
> Warnings: Some descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks. It's not super graphic, but it's realistic at least to my personal experience, so do take care.

When Crowley woke up the first time, his limbs felt like lead. He was oddly corporeal, and it was disorientating. He couldn’t gather the strength or the will to open his eyes, but he could feel himself on a bed, cool cotton sheets and a soft, fluffy comforter.

Aziraphale was speaking. Crowley listened and found he must have been reading something, confirmed by the sound of a page turning. The angel’s voice was raw, although Crowley couldn’t decipher if it was from overuse or emotion.

He tried to say something, let Aziraphale know that he was there, but all he could manage was a soft hum. The angel’s voice stuttered, and he paused in his story.

There was a gentle, warm pressure against Crowley’s forehead before sleep reclaimed him.

* * *

The second time Crowley woke was slightly more successful. His left eye opened slowly, finding the familiar vision of the ceiling of a certain bookshop.

This was a more encouraging sight that he was expecting, so Crowley opened his right eye as well, blinking to adjust to the light as his sunglasses had not yet been returned to him.

“_Crowley_” Aziraphale’s voice broke. Slowly, he turned his head to the angel, relieved to find him whole and well, other than the tears shining in his pale blue eyes. He stood in the doorway, holding a book, he must’ve been just coming back.

The book hit the ground with a soft _thud_, and the bed dipped with the weight of the angel beside him.

“I was so worried, I thought you might not wake up for _ages _yet to come, you’ve been asleep so long as it is-“

Crowley interrupted. “Aziraphale, slow down.” Aziraphale gulped, taking a steadying breath to calm himself. “How are we… on earth?” They were on earth, right? Heaven could not trick him, not like this.

Not that they wouldn’t, but Crowley knew they didn’t pay any attention to the details of earth, and certainly not the lines and patterns in the wood of the ceiling that he could recognize anywhere.

“They let you – us, go.” Aziraphale said softly.

That caused Crowley to pause.

“After Gabriel did – well, _whatever_ that was, Metatron showed up,” Aziraphale explained, reading Crowley’s confusion. “Quite unexpected, really. It’s been a very long time since God has given word to heaven. She had said what we did was part of the Plan. Not the Great one, but the Ineffable one, and so Heaven was to leave us alone for the time being.” Aziraphale sounded like he could barely believe it happening himself.

It took Crowley a long time to think of anything to say to something like that. It didn’t help that he still was saddled with a tired that was bone-deep, and an odd itchiness that came with being back in his human form.

Just thinking about Her made something ache in his chest, a sensation that was becoming uncomfortably familiar as of late. He keenly missed his glasses, wanting to hide the way his eyes dampened. “Has She ever spoken for Herself?” Crowley finally dared to ask.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not while I’ve been around, at least.”

Crowley blinked. “She used to, you know. Before.” There was something soft and wistful in his voice.

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that. The whole conversation had taken a turn Aziraphale hadn’t been expecting. As a rule, Crowley didn’t talk about Before. He didn’t speak about who he was, or the details of his fall, just that it was a vague saunter downwards, the way he always described it.

Crowley had never said who he used to be, and Aziraphale never asked. He must have been created much earlier if he remembered a time like that. “It must have been very different,” he finally decided on.

Crowley nodded. “It was. You’d have liked it, I think. Not as much as earth, but it wasn’t so bad. Angels were… softer then. Less afraid, at least.” Much more like how Aziraphale was, he doesn’t add. Because even at the very start, no angel could have compared to Aziraphale, the best mixture of good with just that one bastard-streak that made him so perfect to Crowley.

“But you wouldn’t?” Aziraphale’s eyebrow rose in question.

“No,” Crowley agreed. “I still would have too many questions, I think.” It was odd being so honest with Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t like being vulnerable; he wasn’t often trusting. But what had happened, it just took too much out of him to care.

And after what the angel saw, it only seemed right.

They settled into a comfortable silence, and Crowley thought vaguely about falling back asleep. That is, until Aziraphale moved closer to touch him.

Crowley flinched, violently. Suddenly, his breathing was picking up speed and Aziraphale backed off.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he said, distraught. “I won’t hurt you, Crowley. I’m not going to touch you, either,” He reassured.

Crowley was crying, he realized, and shaking, and _why was he acting like this_? He knew that Aziraphale wouldn’t do _that_ to him. He just hadn’t expected the angel to move so suddenly.

He hated the guilty look on Aziraphale’s face, the way he looked so lost as how to help him. Crowley wiped furiously at his eyes (the traitors), and slowly but surely calmed his breathing. Finally, when all that was left from his sudden emotional outburst (a panic attack, Crowley knew, but he wouldn’t admit it to himself) was a bit of shaking, Crowley addressed Aziraphale again. “Sorry. Just. Didn’t expect it, angel,” he murmured.

“Would you like anything, dear?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley thought if he said no, he didn’t, Aziraphale might just manage to look even more like a kicked puppy.

Besides, he could think of a few things. “You like cocoa, don’t you?” As Crowley suggests this, Aziraphale goes to make them both a cup. Crowley’s chest flutters when Aziraphale sets his favorite cup down on the bedside table for him to have. Not only was he letting him use the angel wing mug (which was huge for the angel itself, seeing how attached he got to objects, his coat being another example) but he made sure not to startle him again.

Crowley picked up the mug, relishing the warmth in his hand. His split tongue flicked out as he inhaled the sweet smell of the drink. He sipped at it slowly. He didn’t often indulge in foods or sweet drinks – he just didn’t see the appeal as much as Aziraphale did, and much like Aziraphale didn’t get his love for sleeping – but even he could admit it was a soothing drink.

Relaxing considerably, Crowley found himself annoyed only by one thing. “Angel. Stop that,” he demanded.

Aziraphale looked at him with concern from the other side of the room. “What do you mean, dear?” His face scrunched.

“Stop being over there,” Crowley elaborated, mouth turning down in what was a _frown, _not a pout. Aziraphale still looked rather confused but came closer cautiously just the same. Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to break,” he said. “Sit with me.”

Aziraphale looked at the spot beside him on the bed, to his eyes, back to the bed, and to his eyes again. “Crowley, I’m just not sure it’s a good idea, I frightened you last time. I’m still not even sure _what _Gabriel did, but I don’t- I don’t wish to cause you any more pain,” he said gently.

“Aziraphale, I know you won’t hurt me. Don’t make me ask nicely,” said Crowley with conviction that must sway the angel, as he did move to sit down. “Ngh. Just. Slowly,” Crowley added quickly, nerves rising although he knew there was not reason for it.

Aziraphale sat down next to him, legs splayed out comfortably against the soft beige comforter, back resting on plush tartan throw pillows. It’s alright. It’s good, even, and they drink their hot cocoa in peace.

Putting his cup aside, Crowley gathered himself for a moment of courage.

He laid his head down on Aziraphale’s lap. The angel started, making a flustered noise in surprise, but a fond smile replaced his shocked expression with ease. Crowley wouldn’t normally be so bold, but he also wouldn’t usually be so vulnerable, and Aziraphale unusually wouldn’t act with so little hesitation and worry, but really it was all a bit different now, released from either side.

Aziraphale’s lap was soft and warm, and Crowley quickly decided that no pillow could compare. “Crowley, dear. I’d like to. Well, that is. May I play with your hair?” he managed to stutter out.

Crowley laughed - a quiet, breathy thing, but nodded. His hair had grown a bit in the time that had passed, and while it was nowhere near where it once was, it skimmed down the back of his neck to reach for the top of his shoulders. He hummed in contentment when Aziraphale carded his fingers gently through it. “How long has it been, since,” Crowley stuttered, but picked back up “Since Gabriel took me,” he managed.

Aziraphale’s hand stilled but did not leave his head. When he spoke, it started up again. “Two years, Crowley. Only a bit less then that they had you, you’ve been asleep for about a month.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked, his tone clearly implying he did not think there was anything for him to apologize for.

Crowley let his cheek rest against Aziraphale’s stomach. “They only had me to hurt you,” He explained.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Because I care about you, and I hope you wouldn’t be sorry for that,” he insisted. “And if I could get my hands on Gabriel…” he trailed off, his voice teetering on the edge of wrath.

“Don’t,” Crowley said. “He was afraid. He wasn’t always. ‘sides, it’s no use risking yourself when it’s settled.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, it doesn’t mean I have to _like _him.”

Letting out a wet chuckle, Crowley agreed. Seeing that particular angel any time for the next thousand or so years would be a bad idea.

They lapsed into another comfortable silence until finally, Crowley drifted off, safely tucked into Aziraphale’s lap.

* * *

Crowley woke with a gasp. His body was sweating, even though he didn’t need to, and he certainly didn’t _want _to.

He had been falling in his dream. It was more than just a memory of the Fall, it was some odd combination between that memory and the more recent ones, with absurd and horrifying twists (_Aziraphale pushed him down, an apologetic look in his eyes, ‘You know you deserve this, Crawly,’ he said_._ He opened his mouth but he couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t even scream as he fell_).

He wasn’t crying this time – thank Someone – but he was _shaking_. His dream played before his eyes as he tried to ground himself, feeling that blessed _ache_. Yearning for something that would tear him apart.

“Shh, Crowley, it was just a dream, my dear. That’s it, that’s right, breathe, just focus on my voice,” He eventually registered the sound of Aziraphale speaking to him, hand running soothing circles on his back, but leaving him free to easily move away the moment he felt trapped.

Aziraphale asked him to match his breathing, and Crowley did his best to. Aziraphale asked him to list the things in the room – sights, feelings, smells, colors.

Crowley had a sneaking suspicion Aziraphale had been reading up on this while Crowley had slept.

It took some time, but it worked. Aziraphale didn’t ask for any explanation, just offered his comfort.

Crowley still wanted to give him one. “Gabriel had me borrow his Grace,” he said, voice just above a whisper. He knew Aziraphale heard him, but the angel simply waited for Crowley to speak what he wanted to.

“Or, projected it. Something like that. It was like being back in the Host. I could. Ngk. I could feel it, angel, everything,” his voice wobbled. “And it burned. But it was better than being _cold_, and I’m _cold_. Like I fell,” he admits.

Aziraphale makes a noise of sympathy somewhere in the back of his throat. He wouldn’t know how it could feel to fall, but he understood how _bad _it was, the way even the Archangels feared the idea was enough. And that was if one hadn’t also befriended a demon in the last 6,000 years.

“I don’t want to be an Angel again,” Crowley states.

“No,” Aziraphale agreed.

“But I want to feel _that _again. Even if it burns. Even from_ you_,” said Crowley, disgust at the realization creeping through his voice. Aziraphale’s arms twitch in a certain way, and Crowley leaned against him, giving permission for the angel to hold him. He needed Aziraphale to hold him.

Aziraphale seemed to need to hold him.

“I won’t hurt you,” Aziraphale clarified, “but it’s not shameful.” It’s the best he can say, and Crowley thinks, with time, he might even be able to believe it.

When he actually Fell, it wasn’t so different. Worse, certainly, but the awful bit with longing for something you didn’t even want was overwhelming then like it felt now. With time, then, it might fade.

“Crowley, dear… Could you look at me?” Asked Aziraphale, and Crowley did. The angel’s eyes were soft. “I know it’s not the same, not even close, but you have my love,” he said. Crowley knew at that moment, he meant the personal kind, the kind that wasn’t really meant for angels, and definitely not demons. They both were an exception to that idea, it seemed.

Crowley sniffed. “It’s even better, angel,” he said, and he meant it. Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead (a sensation which felt oddly familiar) and Crowley laid them down together.

With Aziraphale pressed into Crowley’s chest, the empty feeling was kept at bay, and he was flooded with warmth. They would stay that way for as long as he could possibly desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm consistantly torn between wanting to write Soft and Happy things between them and wanting to hurt them send help. I hope this had enough comfort to make up for the hurt <3 I had so much fun writing this. Also, more subtle references to the hc of Crowley being Raphael, but never stated directly since it's not the center of this fic I just really Like that hc. 
> 
> As usual, comments and Kudos fuel my writing habit and make my day. And sometimes make me cry because y'all are really out here being the sweetest. 
> 
> If you have any prompts feel free to request them! My tumblr is readingwritingcrying! I'll be working on a TUA story next, I think, and then some more Good Omens because I can't escape it lol.

**Author's Note:**

> I hurt myself while writing this ouchie,,, Next chapter will be up very soon! this is part 9327034 of the series, I Try To Write Something Short and Get Carried Away. 
> 
> For once I'm posting this at a reasonable time of day, but if you're reading this and it's late, take care of yourself and get some rest! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, comments and kudos fill my soul with joy. I'd love to hear your guesses as to who this angel is and what he's doing if you have any! ...looking at the character tags is cheating.


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